All Fall Down
by Descena
Summary: When you're stuck in a life that no longer feels like yours ... how can you get out alive? What will the consequences be? AU, SMcM POV, supporting WWE characters
1. Chapter 1

AU

Stephanie McMahon POV

**All Fall Down**

**Chapter I**

"_**Things had become too predictable for me…"**_

I wasn't sure what was better; living a life full of people that knew and admired you, but feeling no real connection to them, or living a life hidden in the shadows and thrown away like an outcast, once more, feeling no connection to people around you. On the outside, I was confident that people thought I had the life of a Princess. In some respects, yes, I do. But in others…I wouldn't wish the life upon anyone. It started out glorious. I had so many aspiring dreams. Over time, I felt them slowly slip away from me. They didn't simply vanish either. No. I felt the pain of them slowly slipping away from me. As much as I love my father, I can't stand him sometimes. His ego is bigger than everyone I know put together. He is self-centered, too cocky and arrogant for his own good, and far too intrepid. People would say that those are his strengths as well though. Considering the business he now heads and owns that's probably true. Wrestling, whereas used to be popular, now has no real rivalry against my father's business and therefore fights against itself.

I always thought that I had the ideal life. A life that was full of adventure, was never dull, and had so many divine perks that I wish could be granted to others. I thought I had friends that sincerely cared for me, and maybe they do, but if they do…I don't feel that love. Maybe there was something wrong with me? Maybe I just wasn't good enough? I married a caring and handsome man, one popular with the crowd and a man my father loved. I thought that was always good; if my father actually respected someone, then I was golden. And was that the case? No.

Through the years, I climbed my father's ladder in the business quickly. Many people slowly began to abhor me for it and stepped back. Whereas I used to be friends with the key grip boy, now he muttered a simple hello and hurried off to hide somewhere far enough from me to avoid questioning when all I wanted was a simple conversation on how his family was doing. Any time I tried to talk to my father, or my husband, Paul, about it, they simple waved it off. _"What do you expect, Stephanie?"_ my father would say to me. _"We're the royal family and they're the peasants. That's just how it is." _But I didn't like that. I didn't want to assume that I was higher than everyone else because we all come from different backgrounds. Just because I have a bonds account from my father and I drive a car that is yet to be seen in the states doesn't mean that I account myself as a Princess and everyone else as my slaves.

When I agreed to come on air with my family, becoming…sort of an actress, I didn't like the turn my 'character' made. Sure, playing a bitch was fun; for a while. Now it was just dragging out. Not only did people shy away from me at work and whisper behind my back, but now I had a whole nation against me?

"I'm getting sick of it."

I watched over the desk as my father sighed out loud and rolled his eyes, obviously not caring that I was physically sitting right in front of him and could see and hear every little movement that he was making. I simply ignored it.

"How many times are we going to go over this, Steph?" he asked, his tone clipped in annoyance and insensible posture.

Despite his attitude towards the situation and my 'complaining', I wasn't going to let him get off that easily. "As many times as it takes for you to either take me off camera or change my character's heel claim."

I saw him click away on his mouse, his eyes darting all over the computer screen. I felt my blood begin to boil when I realized he was paying more attention the news headlines on the show last night than his own daughter. I always believed that playing 'The Bitch' slowly began to creep into my personal life. I never used to have a temper whereas now I have one that is not to ever be summed for the sake of people and objects a hundred meters around. I leapt up in one fluid motion, and pressed the button the desktop, efficiently shutting the machine down. My father gasped and turned to me, obviously taken aback with the action, as I sank back in the chair.

"What did you do that for?" he snapped.

I narrowed my eyes at him, pressing my lips in a firm and straight line. "I'm asking for five minutes of your time. That's the least you could give me." I watched him shake his head, muttering something under his breath, before I continued. "Now…"

"Stephanie, if you want to go off air, then fine," Vince replied, much to my distress. He would seriously take me off? "You're the head of the creative team."

He didn't need to remind me of that. Every member ostracized me with a heated passion. "I know that," I muttered in between my gritted teeth.

I watched him shrug, as if there was nothing further to discuss. "Then what's the problem?"

I clenched my fists at my side, oblivious to him, but forced myself to calm down. Slapping my father across the face wasn't the best idea. I had gotten a lot of crap from my mother the last time I did that, despite that he wanted it to happen on-air. Just because we were playing parts didn't mean I wouldn't make the physical effects very real for him.

"Fine." I stood sharply, throwing my purse over my shoulder, as I watched him work to turn the computer back on. I rolled my eyes, frustrated that I couldn't get a decent goodbye from him, and walked out of the office. I let the glass door close behind me, not caring how long it took, as I walked down the carpeted hall and towards the elevator.

The main WWE building, located in our hometown, was thirty-two stories high, completely made of glass and hosted on metal framed body. The building had been refurnished in the years after my father took out all of his rivals. My brother, Shane, and I had our own offices as well, but I rarely used mine. I was normally always working at home, on the road, or at shows. Just thinking of home made me think of Paul. We had been married for two years now. Not nearly as long as some would consider, but a lot of people thought we would had split up by now. Shane was always convinced that dating people in our work was a bad mix. While I never agreed or disagreed with him, I knew that he was probably right. Our business was dangerous. Paul had been injured plenty of times, but at least then he'd be home. I had to transfer to his show, Raw, just to be on the road with him. While I wanted a child, he wanted to wait until he could retire from the business. He was thirty-two now, the champion, and it didn't look like he was going to slow down anytime soon. It annoyed me; how very…simple and boring our lives had gotten. Like clockwork, everyday that we weren't together, he would call at three o' clock, asking what was for dinner. It was always something bland too; fish, or chicken. He wanted to 'watch what he ate'. It didn't matter to him that he worked out nearly five times a day and would burn the food off anyways. Things had become too predictable for me in this marriage. I was absolutely miserable.

~*~

"This is good."

I glanced up at Paul from my untouched plate of food; a combination of lemon pepper fish, corn, and lime beans. I gave a small smile, though it felt more like a grimace, as I mumbled a 'Thank You'. I looked back down, wondering if the food could look anymore nasty than it already was.

"You haven't touched your food," he pointed out from across the table. I didn't have to look up to know that he shoved a forkful of corn in his mouth. "Something wrong?"

I looked up again, setting my fork down. "I think I'm going to leave the business," I blurted out. It sounded, more or less, like a confession. I watched his indifferent face, slowly taking in the information, before he nodded and grunted, going back to his food. My eyes widened slightly. That was all he could do? Grunt like an ape? I had been with the business before him, I had contributed more, and I was a McMahon for crying out loud! "That's all you're going to say?" I demanded.

He looked up. If he was surprised at my tone, he sure didn't show it. "What do you want me to say, Steph?"

I sighed loudly, squeezing my eyes shut. "Nothing," I whispered. From the corner of my eye, I saw him give a self-assurance look, like he knew he was right. "I have a headache," I announced, getting up and grabbing my plate. He didn't say anything and if he did, I ignored him. I was too uptight at the moment to give a damn about his thoughts, opinions, or feelings. I dumped the food in the trash and set the plate in the sink, walking out of the kitchen and up the stairs to our bedroom. I normally never let dishes sit in the sink, but I didn't care. All I wanted now was to curl up and sleep, forgetting about this entire day.

As I changed into nothing more than a long shirt, one of Paul's, my stomach growled. I was hungry, but not enough to eat any of the disgusting and healthy meals that Paul had. I considered going out and getting McDonalds or something, but then Paul would question me, and I didn't feel like fighting with him tonight. It was nine in the evening anyways and I doubted the drive thru would be open much longer. I sighed, forcing my eyes closed, praying for a dream that would perk my mood up.

I didn't have any luck.


	2. Chapter 2

Stephanie McMahon POV

**All Fall Down**

**Chapter II**

"_**I didn't work for my father; I worked for the fans."**_

While my injury wasn't anything to be worked up over, I stayed by Paul the whole time through his. It was a very long seven months but we found some normality in our relationship during this time. People weren't asking us questions or bothering us; our cabin in the mountains gave us that privacy. He worked with me in wrestling situations and strategies. I even got really good at the video game, just to give me a small feel towards it. When the time came for Paul and me to go back to the training camp, I went right along side with him. Every time he went to the gym, I was right there with him. Granted, he would be lifting one hundred pound free weights and I would have a weak twenty in each hand, but it felt great to do. It was something we could both bond over as well. By this time, we had been going out for just over a year.

Two weeks before we were to reappear with a rematch (it was still talked about during this time), Paul moved in with me in my house in Connecticut. This was the first time I was in a real relationship with someone, and I wanted to take it slow. We hadn't even slept together yet, and Paul was a gentleman and respected my wish to wait. I think any other guy would have taken off right then and there, but he completely understood. It made me love him even more. I don't ever think, at that time, we were ready to say the 'L' word. It just wasn't at that point yet for either of us. We were both looking to make a statement in the company and because we both agreed to take it slow, there was no need to ruin it by jumping into things.

My first match, with my boyfriend, was against his jealous ex. It looked like I would get my ass handed to me…hands down. People spoke about it in blogs, laughing at me. If anything, it only heated my temper even more, something I never knew I had. In that match, as crazed and vengeful as I seemed to be, I believed at that very moment that I was more like my father. We won the match and I had survived. She was on the ground while Paul was in my arms, kissing me. With the fans cheering us on, and the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I released at that moment that I loved this. I loved having the attention on me. I loved winning. And I loved this job. From then on, I knew that this was what I was born to do.

My father and brother commended us on the match while my mother told me later that I had done a good job, but she wished I wouldn't wrestle anymore. I didn't promise her anything. The next week, Chyna issued me a challenge and I took it. The one thing I learned from being a McMahon and watching my father handle business, in and out of the ring, was that McMahon's didn't fight fair. Bottom line. I wasn't stupid. I didn't walk into that ring with that monster without knowing that I had to have some sort of backup. No wrestler alive would ever deny what a McMahon told them. All I had to do was promise a title shot and I had another wrestler come down to ring side to lay out the female and claim me as the winner.

On that night, I knew one thing: This new side to me would be the dominant side in this business. And I liked her. Not everyone was overjoyed though.

"My, my," I heard as I walked back from behind the curtain. Despite my brain telling me to simply ignore the voice; I couldn't help but to be a little curious as to who would address me. "Was that little Miss Stephanie out there, all grown up and being…what's the word…?" As I turned, I saw the man pondering, quite hard and obviously taunting me, as he placed his finger on his chin and glanced upwards. I simply rolled my eyes and folded my arms over my chest as I tapped my foot impatiently. While the guy wasn't bad looking (at all) I had learned how to separate business from pleasure (except Paul). Besides, I had no clue who he was. "I think the word I'm searching for begins with a B and is five letters." He obviously wanted me to say it. Instead, I simply glared at him.

"Is there a point to this oh-so-boring-encounter?" I asked annoyed.

He simply relaxed slightly and threw me a charming smile. I clenched my teeth. "I just think that it's a change for you," he answered, moving a little too close for my liking. "You do great in both, but you play the bitch so much better."

I rolled my eyes once more and turned to walk towards Paul's locker room where I was sure he was waiting for me. I couldn't ignore the fact that the man I had just ran into was watching me leave very intently. "You're a pig!" I called over my shoulder, only to hear his laughter afterwards. I didn't know it at that time…but it was one Chris Irvine who was hitting on me.

There was something about this business that you couldn't ignore and you couldn't run from. People took time off, they got injured, and they claimed that they were going to put it behind them and retire. No matter what, they always came back. I was no exception. I loved my time on Smackdown as the General Manager. Granted, it was just a face job for the camera, but I loved the script, I loved my character, and more importantly…I enjoyed it. Fans actually cheered for me. My blotched past with my husband, factions, and Chris Irvine's taunting character was far behind me. I grew up. Along with the new position, I got to know wrestlers more personally. They weren't my husband's posse anymore and I liked that.

Paul was on the other brand and both were different. While Raw was live, Smackdown was tape delayed. All that meant for us was more breathing room. You felt more like an actress than a wrestler really, and I enjoyed this new aspect of things. I loved challenges and trying new things and this brand did just that for me.

It was only a year and a half, maybe two, into that job before I looked to take a break. My career behind the scenes was advancing and soon I was in charge of the creative side of things. Something else I took great pride and joy in. I needed time away from the business for my personal life as well. After being together for four years, he proposed to me. I can truly say…it was one of the happiest moments in my life. Of course, my father seemed to view the business more important than our own lives. The last storyline we were working as a way to give me a clean break came to head with an ending match. Everyone knows how clumsy I am in the ring, so it didn't thrill anyone, except my father, when I agreed to that match just four days before my wedding.

Everything went off without a hitch though. I was touched when I was escorted back to the ring. It would be my last appearance for another two and half years. The fans didn't want to see me leave and I held onto that. I felt like I needed to come back. I knew I needed a vacation, but I would back, and I would return with full force. Behind the scenes, Paul and I got married and we went on our two week long honeymoon. It was magical. They had written out for Paul to be injured by kayfabe, so we had the whole time to ourselves without being bothered. Beaches gave us that privacy. When we returned to work, we both dove into it. With myself heading the creative team and Paul going back in his quest for the world title, we were both so busy that we rarely saw each other. I worked at home or from the base office and was never at the arena. There were only selected times when I would appear.

Things were going great. I wasn't too thrilled that my father kept John Cena as a champion headliner, but like a good little employee, I did what I was told. When word came down that the Board Members had been looking to move the Raw section over to a new network, our previous network got pissed. They were quick to drop us that the whole Board, along with us McMahon's, had to fly out to work negotiation with the new network. Thankfully, things worked, but it was a weekend away from Paul and my job.

My father made a huge deal about debating the show on the new network and encouraged us to draft up a well written script with five star matches and for us, as a family, to come out in front of the camera. I was nervous. But it wasn't my nerves in appearing in front of a crowd again, or the fact that I had dyed my hair and appeared different, but that my father had myself and my brother Shane work a deal to get Steve Austin to appear. I have never disliked anyone in this business with a passion more than Steve Austin his self. I will be the first person to admit; he fills seats, he delivers sold out shows, and he is funny as ever. My father and Steve have a hated rivalry and my father is the kind of man to put that in front of the camera and make money out of it. He doesn't care who gets beaten, injured or humiliated; as long as it gets ratings, he's a happy camper.

When Steve (surprisingly) agreed, I spent the night after and devised a perfect script. The week before the big show, we all sat down, my team, father, and I, and edited it. When it actually came time for the show, to go out there and to be the Bitch that everyone loved to hate, I soaked up every single moment of it. And I loved it. I wanted to come back as a face, but just being out there reminded me of who I was and who I worked for. I didn't work for my father; I worked for the fans. As time went on though, I was denied more and more screen time. My job got heavier and the Board demanded script replacements because of the falling of ratings. John Cena became a hated superstar, which I knew would happen. You could only play the same character for a certain amount of time before you're rejected. My husbands faction with friend Shawn was short lived when he was injured again; another low blow to our relationship. While he was at home and recovering, I was working late, running back and forth from show to show. It didn't help that we brought back ECW either.

I wasn't happy with my position and the way things were turning out any longer. We lost a lot of good superstars and gained mediocre ones. I personally felt like Raw and Smackdown were taking hits left and right while my father poured in resources into the new ECW. Eventually, I asked for ECW to be separated from the Raw and Smackdown creative team. It wasn't that I was trying to get rid of it; ECW was smaller compared to both other brands and I felt like they needed their own writers to give us more people for Raw and Smackdown. As I complied this together, my father, once more, decided to go off the deep end.


	3. Chapter 3

Stephanie McMahon POV

**All Fall Down**

**Chapter III**

"_**I wonder if there would ever be a star up there for me."**_

"You want to what?"

I watched my father's expression go from excited, to confused, and then to aggravated. Either he didn't understand my question or he was highly annoyed by it.

"What is so hard to understand?" he asked.

I guess it didn't matter that I was his daughter. He was going to talk to me in the same tone as anyone else and I found it insulting. As his daughter I would expect just a little but more from him. "I understood what you wanted to do," I replied, not holding back my testy attitude. We were sitting in the creative talent room, going over next month's storylines, when my father suddenly blurted out a storyline he had thought about for awhile. He wanted to 'fake' his death. It was something that blew my mind. I couldn't fathom it. It would make sense if he wanted a break, a short vacation if you would, but he was still going to be around running things. When I asked why he didn't just reduce his time meddling in affairs on screen, he waved me off, completely dismissing the idea. "I just don't think it makes any sense," I continued, shaking my head along with the statement.

"I have to agree with Mrs. McMahon," another chirped.

I glanced at him and nodded my head, thanking him for his input. I needed all the back up I could get on this one because I knew how hard of a nut my father was to crack. "You keep telling us that you want fans to believe that what we sell is real, despite the huge population that realizes how fake some of storylines are," I pointed out. "If you go through with this ridiculous idea, who knows what will happen. What are you going to say when someone sees you on the street the night after your 'death'?" I inquired, letting my gaze burn into his.

"What does the E stand for in WWE, Stephanie?" he challenged. Now he was getting technical on me. I hated when he did that. It made me want to reach across the table and strangle him or something. "Entertainment." I hated when he answered his own questions too.

"Fine." I threw up my hands. It was painfully clear that I wouldn't win this one and for some reason, in the back of my mind, I was alright with that. If he wanted to make himself look like a fool, then fine. But I wasn't going down with him. "Your name is on that script then," I told him, standing up and collecting my things together. As far as I was concerned, this meeting was over. Without saying another word or looking at anyone, I left the office, probably giving my father exactly what he wanted.

Control.

* * *

"He's just so stubborn."

As I applied the touchup to my makeup, I heard Paul chuckling in the driver seat as we drove to my parent's house. There were two sides to vent sessions like this depending on his mood; he either complained about it or joked about it. Tonight happened to be the latter. "It's in the McMahon gene pool," he teased.

Closing the mirror and snapping my applicator shut, I turned to shoot him an annoyed glare. "You're saying our children will be just like my parents," I accused.

He glanced shortly at me and shook his head. "Well, no, I didn't mean it like that."

"It's what you said," I pointed out, zipping up my purse.

"But it's not what I meant."

And those were our arguments. He always had to have the last word. Most of the time, I let it slide and gave it to him. But sometimes he just annoyed me too much to sit back and take it all in one dose. "Our children will not be McMahon's," I said, completely confident. "They will be Lévesque's."

Paul chuckled again. "Are you sure you want that?"

"Compared to the other option? Hell yeah."

He laughed as we pulled into the driveway. Shane's car was already here which meant that they were already easing my parents into the wine. It made dealing with my father that much easier. As we entered the house, all business matters were left in the car. When we were together, as a family, business was never discussed. My father was anal when it came to the WWE, but he was stricter with this rule, which I didn't mind.

Paul and I got out of the car and walked up to the driveway. A ran hand through my hair, which was naturally turning back brunette, as Paul rang the doorbell and glanced over at me. "Don't be so nervous," he coaxed, throwing me a small, and yet fake, grin. Sometimes I thought he was amused by how nervous I got whenever we spent Friday night dinner at my parents house. Still, after years of marriage, Paul didn't understand that the McMahon family was anything but relaxing and normal. It just didn't fit into vocabulary. Instead, I just shot a grin right back at him as the door opened. My mother stood there, smiling like nothing was ever wrong, as she opened up her arms and hugged Paul before letting him enter and walking over to me.

"Aw, darling," she said softly, hugging me tightly. I returned the hug eagerly, knowing full well that I could hide nothing from my mother. I could yell at my father or talk to him in that sweet little voice of mine, but never my mother. I could bat my eyelashes at my father to get off anything…but never mom. "Sweetie, what's wrong?" she asked, stepping back, but keeping me in her grasp. "You look like you haven't been sleeping."

I shook my head slightly, chuckling nervously, as I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and offered her a small shrug. "Not so much lately, no." Except for Paul, no one knew I wanted to retire from my position. My father knew I wanted time off but figured that within a month's time I would change my mind; like he always did.

Rubbing my back, she extended her hand out towards the house. "Come," she said, slowly walking to the front door. "Let's have a drink or two before dinner. It'll calm your nerves."

_Yes_, I thought, walking along with her. _It surely would_.

~*~

Sometimes, when Paul is sleeping or working out downstairs, I step outside on the balcony and just look up into the night sky. I look at the stars and I wonder how old they are. How long did it take to reach us and why were some brighter and bigger than others? I remember when my father used to tell me that for every star that was up in the sky, one belonged to someone who passed away. On a bad day, the night sky was full of them. But on a good day, you might not find more than a dozen. It was his way of telling Shane and I that no matter what happened to them, he would always be there, looking down on us, shining so bright in the dark night, guiding us. As I look up, I wonder if there would ever be a star up there for me.

Hearing the door open, I turn around and see Paul walk into the bedroom and into the bathroom without so much as a word or glance. Sighing loudly, I grip the railing and look down. The trees whistle from the gentle push of the wind as I watch the pool's surface gleam in the stars light. I quickly spin on my heel and head back inside, closing the balcony door and walking over to the bed, pulling the sheets back.

"You were unusually quiet all night," I hear.

I look up at Paul and offer nothing more than a nod. "Did you work out?" I ask, tossing a pillow in the corner.

"No," he answers, taking off his wrist watch and sitting on his side of the bed with his back to me. I nod and climb into the bed on my side, leaning over to shut off the side lamp. I sink down and lay on my side, with my back to my husband. It doesn't take him too long before he settles in the and the room is cast in the moonlight's shadow. "Is something on your mind?" he asks me.

I ponder the question for a short time before answering. Does he care or is he asking because he feels the need too? How long has it been since he had sex? A week…three? When was the last time we ever had a real discussion? Why did I keep denying what I was feeling?

I move over on my back, staring up at the ceiling. "Paul?" A few seconds go by. "Paul."

"Hmm?"

I sigh, looking down, aware that he isn't paying too much attention. "I think…" I turn to face him, looking at his bare back, before looking up again, messing with the ring on my finger.

"I think I want a divorce."


	4. Chapter 4

Stephanie McMahon POV

**All Fall Down**

**Chapter IV**

"_**I needed to find the real me. "**_

I had spent an abnormal amount of time organizing my filing cabinet. Especially considering that there was nothing to organize. Everything now-a-days was on the computer. It actually frightened me. What if, one day, my computer decided to take a dump on me? What then? What would happen with that night's scripts, or the week after, or the months? Folders, empty colored folders, were stacked upon my desk. And all I could do was stare at them. It was as if so many thoughts were going through my head that I could no longer function.

"Oh…my…god."

I blink a few times as I look up. "I didn't hear the door," I say, weaker than I thought I sounded.

"The door wasn't closed," the voice said, confused.

I watch as Trish, the woman I would claim as one of my closest friends, rounded the desk and kneeled by me, placing her hand on my knee. "You've been staring at that stack for the past few minutes," she informs me, shaking me to the core for some reason, as her eyes light up in worrisome. "Are you doing alright?"

How could I answer that? Of all the things I've been, all the things I could be, a liar has never been one of them. How could I honestly answer a question like that to someone that was seeking the truth? Especially when my answer was as depressing as the question?

"I don't know," I admit to Trish, watching her face show more concern than before. Expecting a further explanation, I watch her move over a chair and sit down. I sigh out loud, not really wanting to go into detail. I stand up and close the door to the office, not wanting anyone to overhear. So help them if they did.

"I think I asked Paul for a divorce last night."

As I took my seat once more, I watch her perfect face turn into a frown. "What do you mean you _think_?" she asked. The perfect question. All I could rightfully give her was a shrug.

"Well, I did say it," I admit, before frowning myself. "Kind of."

"And what did he say?"

"Nothing."

"Uh-huh."

"I don't think he believed me."

Again, Trish frowned. "Why wouldn't he believe you?" she managed to question. "I mean…how did you say it?"

"Obviously not convincing enough."

"Well, do you want a divorce?"

I shrug. "I guess."

"You guess?"

"Yes?"

"Stephanie…"

"Trish, everything is just so messed up!" In frustration, I stand up, pacing the front of the office as I collect all of my thoughts. "I feel like I'm living this life that just isn't for me. Like…I'm pretending to be someone I'm not."

"Stephanie, you're just stressed."

"No," I say as I shake my head. "It's much more than that. I feel like I married into a boring and predictable life. Nothing ever challenges me anymore. Everything is always the same. I tell my father I want time off and he doesn't even give a shit. I tell Paul I'm going to quit and he doesn't believe me. And then I ask for a divorce, and he doesn't even acknowledge me! I mean…how did it get like this?"

I look at my friend, wide eyed, searching for an answer. Suddenly, I feel like I hit a brick wall and I fell straight on my ass. As I'm lying there, looking up, it's like a light is shining down on me. Like a sudden vision or truth has finally hit me.

"You need a vacation," I hear Trish say.

What I needed was adventure. I need to feel free and live without the fear of pleasing people or suffering consequences. I needed to be the woman I was five, six, seven years ago. Not the house wife I had suddenly become. I didn't like this predictable life style and I knew that I needed a change. A leave of absence. I needed to find the real me. The real Stephanie McMahon. "You're right," I manage to say; feeling like all of this was a dream. As my vision clears, I look at Trish as she stares right back at me. Slowly, she smiles, though it is small. "And I'll do just that."

"Good," Trish says. "And you'll start tomorrow!"

Frowning, I shake my head slightly. "Can it be the night after?" I ask. "I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow."

Looking at me puzzled, she nods. "Okay."

I just didn't realize that the sudden turn in my life was going to happen tomorrow anyways. It was strange what fate dealt you. Just when you think you had all the answers and all the keys to life's mysterious...they changed the locks on you.


End file.
